Chapter 7 #2
But Nineteen has grown on me already, which is saying a lot.
I don’t make friends easy. I don’t let people close.
Trust is something someone should earn and few have managed that.
I learned that quickly, as soon as I put on my mask to become the Death Bringer.
People treat you differently, you see a different side to them when you’re anonymous.
Colleagues I’d had in my first role within Hades’s complex web of employees were suddenly much more accepting and intimidated by me when I was masked.
None of them knew I was the trainee they saw part-time.
I’d initially taken a job in Tartarus to become a Guard there.
But having been siloed into the less dangerous work, mainly manning the admin, I’d decided that when an opportunity came up to go on a tryout as an enforcer, I’d do it, and would go into it without showing my real self.
Several demons and shifters I’d been working with had also signed up, and one of the coaches was my immediate boss at the time.
Turns out taking away my face allowed people to see my killing potential more.
I’ve been the Death Bringer ever since. Quickly climbing the ranks and outperforming the rest until I’d made the inner circle.
Hades, of course, demanded to know my true identity.
He and his husband are two of only a handful that know what I look like.
And Hades has changed many policies, and improved the anti-feminist bullshit, in the years since I became his Head Assassin and Guard.
Especially as I’d spent many hours lamenting about the fucked-up assumptions people make.
I hope there aren’t females being held back simply by their gender anymore but the mask stuck for me.
And to be honest, I like the edge of mystery it brings, I freaking love the whole myth that has grown out of me hiding my identity.
It’s great to join in on conversations as Tacita, listen to what people think about Hades’s silent bodyguard.
And it means I can go out on the streets and nobody knows who walks amongst them.
I have fame and fortune but don’t get accosted. It suits me perfectly.
I’m on my third slice of pepperoni when Wyatt comes over.
“Hey Mo Stór, we’re in the same class for most things, isn’t that lucky?” he drawls. Even with the language change his Irish accent bleeds through. Along with that term he’s called me twice now.
“What are you talking about?” I reply around a mouth full of melted cheese.
“They’re making us take classes whilst we’re here, you know, so we understand the culture or some bullshit. Anyway, we’re in the same one for pretty much everything. We can sit in the back and make out.”
I choose to ignore the last sentence but take a deep breath as annoyance flares through my system. “Urgh. I forgot about those. How many hours are they torturing us with?”
“Five classes a day, six days a week. So we’re going to get to know each other pretty well.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
I notice the paper he’s holding. Snatching it out of his grasp, I see the class list and our schedule.
For fuck’s sake. We’ve been split into five.
There’s a few lectures and some of the fitness stuff where we’re paired up with another class but for the most part I’m only going to be with a handful of the contestants here.
How am I supposed to figure out who the Angels’ spy is if I’m never with the majority of them?
Slamming the paper down, I tap my fingers against the table surface and with the other hand stuff more pizza into my mouth as I think.
I need to get Officer Thinks-I’m-only-interested-in-his-dick to get me out of this.
All the stuff they want to teach us I’ll already know anyway.
I spotted things like history of the realm, politics and law, and magical abilities on the schedule.
I could recite all that in my sleep, having been through our education system once already.
Across the table, Nineteen has stopped eating and has cocked his head. He looks like he wants to ask to see the paper I slammed down but is too afraid to gesture anything in front of Wyatt, who has launched into some very incorrect theories about the magical beings that were part of today’s trials.
I stop tapping the table and pick up the paper, handing it to my silent roommate. He takes it gingerly, side-eying Wyatt first, but then gets engrossed in the double-sided sheet. I’d noticed he was on my class list too so the schedule is relevant for him.
“Where’d you get the information sheet?” I interrupt Wyatt.
“Oh, the guards were handing them out.” He looks around the hall. “Guess they’ve left now.”
Indeed none of them seem to be standing watch like they did whenever we ate all together in the human prison.
“I’ll have to find one later,” I grumble and resume eating.
Thinking the conversation over, I’m surprised when Wyatt doesn’t leave. Instead he reaches across the table and holds a hand out to Nineteen. “Hey, not sure we managed to talk before, I’m Wyatt.”
It’s a friendly gesture but Nineteen looks more like prey that’s been found by a predator.
He startles, staring wide eyed between Wyatt’s face and his outstretched hand.
He puts down the sheet of paper and very slowly places his own hand in Wyatt’s palm before pointing at the number stitched onto his chest like he did with me.
“Surely we’re past the point of numbers, what’s your name?” Wyatt enquires.
Panic crosses Nineteen’s face and he pulls his hand back sharply before tucking both into his lap and staring at his food.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” Wyatt adds. “Hope you’re not too hurt either, I’m guessing the bandage is from the trial today?”
He sounds genuine which slightly surprises me. Cocky bastard that he is, I didn’t expect him to care about Nineteen’s feelings or injuries.
Nineteen’s head snaps up again and I see the blush across his cheeks. He shakes his head rapidly before looking at me.
“Nineteen can’t talk,” I tell Wyatt, hoping I’ve interpreted my roommate's expression correctly.
“Oh shit,” Wyatt immediately signs and now I really am shocked. “If you sign, I can understand. I had a cousin who couldn’t talk and so I learnt to sign for him.”
“He can’t sign either. I’ve figured out enough to know he can write, but I need to find some pens and a notepad.”
“Damn.” Wyatt drops his hands. “Those pricks should’ve provided you with that.” He sounds indignant on Nineteen’s behalf.
Nineteen just shrugs like it’s not a big deal that his needs haven’t been met.
Wyatt stands abruptly and leaves without saying another word.
Nineteen and I exchange questioning looks before continuing our dinners. We study the sheet Wyatt left behind as we finish our meal in companionable silence. Seffy joins us as we finish up and decide to walk back to our dormitory together.
We’ve just about made it to the stairs for our building when footsteps come up behind us at an alarming speed.
“Wait up! I’ve got you something.” Wyatt’s back and he’s thrusting something at Nineteen as we all turn around at the holler.
It’s a tote bag. Nineteen’s eyebrows draw together as he studies the bag, holding it almost like he thinks it’s a hand grenade.
Wyatt rolls his eyes. “Open it.”
Nineteen follows the instruction and he pulls out two brand new looking notebooks and a handful of different pens.
“You got him writing materials? How?” I say, stunned.
“Yeah. If this is how he can communicate he should have them. I asked one of the guards and the prick said no, so I found out where the supply closet is, figuring they must have some writing stuff if they’re going to be teaching us stuff. I broke in to get them.”
Nineteen is already writing something but pauses to look at Wyatt in horror.
“Don’t worry little dude. They know it’s me that nicked them. I went back and showed the same guard that refused me. He got a bit angry but I let him yell and then he settled down. I think I won him over. Anyway, you won’t get into trouble.”
Nineteen visibly relaxes.
“That’s so sweet.” Seffy practically melts at Wyatt’s feet.
I, on the other hand, just narrow my eyes at him.
He can’t be that generous to someone he’s just met without an ulterior motive.
My head starts spinning with theories, and questions, about Wyatt as Seffy speaks again, this time to Nineteen directly. “Can you not talk?”
He shakes his head and quickly resumes writing.
We wait until he’s done and he turns the page around.
Thank you is written in neat script. He gives a tentative smile at Wyatt, who beams back at him.
Then he turns the paper more fully toward me and I see the line underneath. My name is Milo.